
COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Hang Up Philosophy 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 



W. B. ARVINE 




etVeritxti 



THE POET LORE COMPANY 

THE GORHAM PRESS 
BOSTON 



Copyright, 1911, by W. B. Arrine 
All Rights Reserved 



I 9!! 



The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A 



f,.^ 



)C|.A309249 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Hang up Philosophy, Edgewood Stanzas 7 

Evening 

Twilight 16 

An Echo 17 

The Whippoorwill 18 

The Whippoorwill Nearer to 19 

The Wanderer 20 

A Song 21 

The Lonely Road 22 

Evening 24 

The Nymphs 25 

Ideal I 30 

Ideal II 31 

Euphrosyne I 32 

Euphrosyne II 33 

Euphrosyne and Dolorosa 34 

Ignota 35 

Charlotte 36 

Ruth 37 

Pergolese 38 

Stradella 39 

L'Envoi 47 

Spinozan Echoes I 49 

II 52 

III 53 

Lines 54 

St. Patrick's Cathedral 55 

Lines 57 

A Hymn — St. James 61 

A Song 62 

Parting 63 

Adieu 64 

Song 65 

3 



CONTENTS 

Page 
Translations 

From the French of Verlaine 68 

From the German of Heine 69 

Sonnets 

Ik Marvel's Hill 72 

Endymion 73 

Night 74 

Ave Maria 

I 75 

n 76 

Shadows 

Aberglaube 78 

Lines 79 

Woodmont Revisited I 80 

Woodmont Revisited H 81 

Lines 82 

Christ's Love 83 

Despondency 84 

The Happy Dead 85 

Watchman, What of the Night? 86 

Lines 87 

Oxford 88 

Lines 89 

Lines 90 

Miscellaneous 

Dreamland 92 

To Doctor G. With Some Cigars at Christ- 
mas 93 

The Bird With Broken Wing 94 

The Flower 95 

To W 96 

Lovely Women 97 

Lines , 98 

Lines 99 

4 



HANG UP PHILOSOPHY 



HANG UP PHILOSOPHY 

EDGEWOOD STANZAS 

From Reason's labyrinthine wrong, 

Save, heav'n-born Maid; — our mortal Gate 

Of the bright Mysteries of Song, 

Open till this dark maze of fate, 

Stark thought's vague prison, fill 

With fairer glamor than our upland lake 

Wears in the silence under a late moon 

The hour that sad, unreconciled queen, 

With far ethereal thrill. 

Charms night-walled surge, and, thro' jet branches 

seen. 
Shimmering inland-waters so they make 
Wanderers pensive as a tune 
Of mournful music will. 
Far-heard at dusk on lone, deep-wooded hill. 

The radiance from thy lips, that streams, 

Virginal, thro' the numbed brain, 

Is not of lost unchartered beams 

From veiled world-circling fires of pain, 

Like strange Selene's wile 

Of boundless yearning by hard fate outworn. 

Wan beauty of the hopelessness past tears, 

For dull oblivion waiting listlessly. 

No gleam of siren isle 

In deeps of sad eternal mystery. 

Thy splendor; no, 'tis heav'n's o'erflowing morn: 

Closed by the hot, impassable years. 

Yet undismayed the while. 

Ever thou hast thy rapt empyreal smile! 



Be thy wide waking my release; 

Not listless prayers for Lethe-flow, 

Long-baffling thought's last sorceries; — 

'Sad cure' that gives me such a throe 

As cerements of death 

From rifled tombs of dark idolatry. 

Me, by a wistful hearth, benignly wake: 

Let my pent soul, unshackled, purely thrill 

With thine ecstatic breath 

Till vain, o'erwearied questionings be still — 

O smiling Poesy, come compass me 

With wings of magic proof to break 

Self-meshing Reason's teeth 

Whose wounds my 'guiled spirit sinks beneath ! 

My aery waking guard; save me 

Vain hurryings thro' havenless chance. 

Fleeing my natal destiny, 

Homeless mid the Old World's romance. 

Here let my heart abide, 

And only my adventurous fancy roam 

To link my being with our richer past — 

Our storied Motherland — that I may feel. 

After forgetful pride 

Of knowledge, secrets thought shall ne'er unseal. 

Let ancient calm, lovely as evening gloam. 

Enfold this hillside hearth at last; 

Where, not by fancy spied. 

Prattles a little damsel at my side. 



Yes, safe at home, for no brief hour, 

My waking be, far from the door 

Of solitude; no cloistral bow'r. 

Mossed ruin on shunned river-shore, 

Hide me, companionless. 

With this wee damsel — her wide, visioning eyes 

In Legend's festal glamor well content — 

These slopes let me in Old World joyance roam 

Till the low leafage kiss 

Her, whispering, where lays from Percy's tome 

Gave me, once, gaily timorous surmise 

Of winding horn and revelment — 

Lost solitary bliss — 

Deep in our rustling upland wilderness. 

We will not blame our harsh New World, 

Her intellectual storm and stress; 

Nor, though her fever has upcurled 

One faltering soul, love her the less. 

The youthful Titan throes 

'Neath burdens wellnigh more than she can bear; 

Nor hath unchastened, hurrying self-will 

Confirmed her sad, illboding prophets yet. 

No, my worn heart well knows, 

Her shall, one day, her Sophist brood outwear; 

What time her spirit kens, as it doth fill, 

At last, the channel God hath set, 

The goal whither it goes, 

Loving with us the past from whence it flows. 



How arduous thy journeying, 

Thou, gentle Inward Eye, must know. 

Into this wildered brain to bring 

Charm of that jocund long-ago 

Haunting unbannered keep, 

Hoar sentinel of nestling grey-walled town ; 

And the great woods where echoed rousing staves 

O'er that bold firelight ring of Lincoln green. 

In filched ale pledging deep 

Their naughty friar, only by fairies seen; 

Haunting the towered meadows of The Gown 

Soft-mirroring Thames so sweetly laves — 

Now for thy native steep. 

Far-voyaging Inward Eye, dull not nor sleep! 

O rich the freight thou bringest me — 

Round our loved home I must unroll. 

For that dear maid's half-whispered glee, 

The brave enchantment of my soul. 

Too long her drooping eye 

For her dark-thralled votary doth pine. 

See, he returns, wrapt in that lost repose 

So innocent of this fever-thirst for vain 

Impossible how and why; 

Returns, without her, ne'er to roam again; 

Comes with a brimming largess for her shrine 

Of olden minstrelsy that flows 

Blithe as blue-winding Wye 

Past crumbling Tintern open to the sky. 



10 



By green hedgerows, o'er which bend down 

These cherished woods, sweet-lingering hours 

We'll gaze off on the learned town ; 

Like some faint glimpse of Oxford tow'rs 

From these high lawns she lies. 

Almost my own ideal New England seems 

This pleasant old hill-road. More, as I wake, 

I see the touch of a fond, vanished hand 

Which, with our hopes, did prize 

The mellow beauty of our far home-land. 

Up thro' the lane, whence the late sunlight streams 

Down on his stone cot, tow'rd the lake. 

Ere many moons shall rise. 

We twain will roam until the long day dies. 

We'll tiptoe the damp, cressed sward 

High-shaded hurrying streams along, 

Gay outlaws at our watch and ward; 

Anon to dance and wassail song. 

Safe in the high morass 

Forever locked to charm-dispelling day. 

Or, viewless elves, we thread strange fastnesses 

Till homing flocks forsake the lonely wold. 

There o'er the spangled grass. 

As walled curfew glooms far cot and fold. 

Thro' moonlit mists and streaking shadows grey, 

'Neath Gothic elm, our revelries 

Unseen shall dimly pass. 

Faint-heard by startled swain late from his lass. 



II 



Nay, soon from world-forgetting shades 

And distant dreams, to violet-fringed 

Minstrel mid-May's deepening glades. 

Where heav'n thro' waving boughs hath tinged 

With sun-lace vernal sward. 

Spring's wilding breath is ever bounteous 

Here to late winter winds. A short climb hence, 

Slow-budding, serried oaks and chestnuts through, 

On the chill knolls that guard 

The violets from the north, glance in our view 

Bars of the lake's clear azure. Over us 

Kind skies crave thrilling confidence 

As welled from Rotha's bard 

That God is good, Earth fair, though life be hard. 

To thee, O sweet unhappy Earth, 

By loosed Fancy's bright sojourn 

In lusty morn of English mirth, 

Her being's cradle, I return: 

So hath my waking found 

The lorn hills of my birth-land beautiful ; — 

Found me thy praises singing, stately crag, 

Towering the dark-blue upland wave above 

With hoary firs high-crowned; 

Tall crag the low sun cheers with lingering love. 

While far beneath, in shadowy stillness cool. 

The heron lone, on gnarled snag. 

Broods o'er the smooth profound. 

And Twilight sheds her forest magic round. 



12 



See, ye self-'mured who will have man 

The sum and measure of all things ; 

A young land's seers who deem ye can 

Ravel with lifeless reasonings, 

And, to the All-in-All, 

Revamp this vast imperious riddle world, 

See, from your tangled catacombs of thought:— 

Day's ageless eye, pausing with softer fires 

Just o'er the crag's dark wall, 

Looks backward thro' the cedars' clustered spires. 

'Tis my boon hour; and, from the past unfurled, 

On sovran Earth ye set at naught, 

Calm benedictions fall — 

Home of my fathers, not my spirit's pall I 

Up the crag's mossy flank we go 

Along soft-tinkling amber rills 

To watch the amber after-glow 

Fade over far-off purple hills: 

Silent we watch the dark — 

The deep, serene, all-shriving spell of night — 

Come starlit o'er the dreaming face of things 

With deeper secrets than the unborn morrow 

We wot not of. — But hark, 

The ancient, the ineffable charm of sorrow, 

Vintage beloved of all sure delight! 

Thy plaint with a strange gladness rings, 

O Whippoorwill, sweet lark 

Of hours when Day's red hearth lies cool and stark ! 



13 



By the dim margin of the lake 

At last we loiter, hand in hand, 

Bidding shy dryad Echo wake, 

Gazing adown the underland. 

So near, so far away; 

Of starry skies a trembled, stilly realm 

And fair, beneath abysmal foliage flung — 

Till, gathering my darling unto me, 

Lapt in sweet tire of play. 

Softly I hasten homeward, shrived and free. 

For nevermore may naked Reason whelm 

The longing of a song unsung. 

Nor harshly say me nay 

To youth-reviving memories for aye. 



H 



EVENING 



TWILIGHT 

The hour is come when tow'rd the west 
The day-worn spirit thrills — 
That ever-wondrous golden glow 
Upon the purple hills. 

The dews fall on the drooping flow'rs, 
And on my heavy heart 
Enchantment falls — O! nameless charm 
That shall too soon depart; 

Falls softly, as, from tufted crag, 
Fell upon moon-lit sea. 
In other times, the hoary harper's 
Dying melody. 

As in a dream, I seem to know 
There lies a lovely land 
'Neath those far hills where silent waves 
Break on a lonely strand. 



i6 



AN ECHO 

I lay beneath an aged tree 

Among the daisies on the lea 

While happy birds thrilled 'mid the leaves 

Their ancient minstrelsy. 

Yes, many an olden magic lay 
That seemed to come from far away 
The flow'rs and I in silence heard, 
That golden summer's day. 

And such a mist came o'er my eyes. 
As long ago with far surmise 
At whispered twilight fairy-tale 
And wondrous western skies. 



17 



THE WHIPPOORWILL 

Sweet bird, I know thy mournful ditty 
Wells from a hidden gladness; 
For I, too, love the forest twilight's 
Hushed, mysterious sadness. 

And, O, had I the pow'r to sing 
That amber after-glow. 
My tranced heart would utter just 
Such far-off strains, I know. 

Sing on, as thro' enchanted glooms 

I pass to pleasant rest 

With thoughts that cannot find my tongue, 

My head upon my breast. 



i8 



THE WHIPPOORWILL NEARER TO 

Amid these fragrant twilight glooms 
Now all is strangely still, 
As tranced by thy magic woe, 
Melodious Whippoorwill. 

And, listening to thy heart's outpour. 
All breathless, too, am I — 
A traveller not unknown to grief — 
With rapturous ecstacy. 

For what boots pity, when from pain 
The spirit takes no wrong? — ■ 
O beauteous grief-born melody. 
Triumphant sorrow-song ! 



19 



THE WANDERER 

Wanderer, wanderer, 

Whither goest thou? 

Gleams not a lamp, lit by white hands for thee, 

Far thro' the darkness now? 

Wanderer, wanderer. 

Why droops thy head so low? 

Surely thy heart behind thee strays afar. 

Why else thy steps so slow? 

Wanderer, wanderer. 

Look up; above the plain. 

Dark-looming clouds are shot with winged fire. 

I feel warm drops oi rain. 

Wanderer, wanderer, 

This is no time to roam — 

I see a light that signals me to soothe 

An anxious heart at home. 



20 



A SONG 

The stars are shining brightly, 
The zephyrs fan us lightly, 
And round our bow'r the nightly 
Songsters sweetly sing. 

All else save love is dreaming, 
Thine eyes with joy are beaming, 
And my glad heart is teeming 
With songs I cannot sing. 



21 



THE LONELY ROAD 

I saw once in a ponderous book, 
While yet a little boy, 
A picture of a lonely road, 
That filled me with strange joy. 

The book with other loves has gone 
The heedless way of chance: 
I only know my mother spoke 
Vague words of "old, old France". 

The road wound past a tabled heath 
Along near, cresent hills; 
And vanished with the mystery 
Of high, deep-falling rills. 

Twilight seemed darkening with the hush 
The homing shepherds fear — 
I knew the place that, after dusk, 
No canny folk come near; 

The ancient place where battlements 
Rise up, then foil the sight; 
Where thralled maiden languishes 
For bugling errant knight. 

I've often pondered how that print 
So long has haunted me. 
Still lingering with such vividness 
In my worn memory. 



22 



Sometimes I almost wonder while 
The Sabbath twilight wanes, 
If there be some dim Huguenot 
Homesickness in my veins. 

Perhaps a spark of glamor lives 

In each o'erbusy brain, 

One spark the crowding years have tried 

To stamp away in vain. 

One thing is certain, now I live 
In "light of common day", 
With romance far as once did seem 
The sky-line on the bay. 



23 



EVENING 

Evening and home once more; 

Three hush'd leagues from the throbbing city, 

Here on this murmuring shore 

Again I hum the strange old ditty 

Sung mid deep waters' roar 

Long ere the world was with grave science blest. 

Gazing far out to sea, 

Singing, I breathe the sea air gratefully; 

And from old ocean's boundless breast 

And the vague arch of evening, come to me 

Inklings of puissant, deep tranquillity 

Which knoweth not our spent and sodden rest. 

The calmness unoppressed 

And welling zest 

Of youth return ; a short hour I am free, 

Lightened of the grim load 

With which a faithless world must test 

My soul on life's rough road. 

— Sweet heaven, long let it be 

Ere I, when given breath from the sharp goad 

Of a too wise, o'erheated work-day world. 

Can never, nevermore. 

While night's high starry silence is unfurled 

Along the windings of this loved shore. 

Feel what I was of yore. 



H 



THE NYMPHS 

An adaptation in verse from the prose of Turgen- 
ieff. 

Upon a flowery knoll high in a wood, 

At twilight, once, in beauty's thrall I stood; 

And saw, thro' ageless, clear-revealing gaze 

Of poesy, that glory in the west. 

Which young-eyed wonder hailed, in golden days, 

As sorrowless Elysium beauty-blest. 

And sorrowless were my first thoughts, this hour, 

Of universal Pan's unfaltering pow'r 

Ere the Great Wail of Sorrow rose on earth. 

— Listen, from shades of many a stirred bow'r 

The gathering choirs of night 

Send echoes of creation's morning mirth; 

Sweet- thrilling song of freedom without bound, 

The selfsame deep delight 

A dreaming world is pouring on my sight 

In lofty symphony too vast for sound! 

The ancient hills, a far-flung crescent round 

Earth's western brink, in lucent purple dight, 

Their potent, everlasting youth declare 

With smile prophetical. 

Kissed by departing king of day. 

So fair, so prodigal. 



25 



Soon came to mind a long-forgotten tale, 

Once meaningless as childish roundelays; 

But now of woeful import to assail 

The large-horizoned mirth of other days. 

It was the legend of a Grecian craft 

Among bright isles in blue Aegean sea — 

Too soon that bark did Notus thither waft 

After the morn of Christ's nativity. 

The drowsy helmsman wist of no alarm; 

It was high noon, and sea and sky were calm — 

"When thou shalt pass by yon unpeopled isle", 

A-sudden cried a voice high o'er his head, 

"Let not sleep thine obedience beguile; 

Steer close, and shout amain : 'Great Pan is dead' ". 

Now when the pilot passed that desert shore, 

All wide awake with dread. 

He gave the cry that echoes evermore: 

"He's dead. Great Pan is dead!" 

And all along that desolate strand 

Rose wailing wild on every hand: 

Great Pan is dead, is dead. 



26 



While drooping with that story old 

The wand of Hermes smote my eyes; 

And in a dream of marvel manifold 

I saw ecstatic pagan paradise. 

— Methought I gave the cry: 

"Great Pan is newly bom; 

Arisen in all his primal loveliness, 

And Earth's no more forlorn. 

Yes he again is nigh 

Beneath a happy sky 

To show his rapturous tokens numberless!" 

When lo before my 'mazed eyes 

A wondrous miracle was wrought: 

With mighty, universal laughter fraught, 

Those far hills were Olympic paradise. 

Each moment louder waxed that thrilling sound, 

So swiftly hasting near from far away, 

Till heavenly voices echoed all around. 

And in a chorus vast did seem to say: 

"Hear, hear our answering cry; 

Great Pan is newly born. 

Arisen in all his primal loveliness, 

And Earth's no more forlorn. 

Then breathe no sorrow-sigh. 

For we are hasting nigh. 

His lovely, living tokens numberless!" 



27 



The rush of countless feet 

Resounds on every side; 

The blossoming thickets show a wondrous light 

They cannot wholly hide; — 

Behold those glimpses fleet 

Of rosy limbs and flowing raiment white! 

Lo, all along the amber glades 

Now come to view great dancing bands 

Of wondrous fair, immortal merry maids 

With shining pipes and timbrels in their hands. 

Their dark, high-clustering curls toss in the wind; 

The face of Nature brightens to adore them. 

On, on they come in frolic unconfined. 

Rolling Olympian laughter on before them. 

First doth advance, in countenance 

And shape the loveliest of them all: 

With one acclaim 

The others name 

Her queen of that high festival. 

The silver crescent-moon is on her brow — 

O dazzling maidenhood! Diana, is it Thou? 



28 



But suddenly all motionless she stands: 

Ceases the dance ; the laughter dies away ; 

And strangely hushed those erewhile happy bands 

Gaze on their leader in a blank dismay. 

For she, with parted lips, averted head, 

Her trembling hands to her chill bosom prest, 

Gazes with eyes askance, all wild with dread. 

Into the distance. O then, sore distrest 

For loveliness that was not born for tears. 

In glorious merriment struck dumb with fears, 

Swift-following that horror-stricken gaze, 

I saw a stately, far cathedral spire 

Whose golden cross with heav'n's pure light ablaze 

Did seem in truth to be a cross of fire. 

Even as I looked a long despairing sigh 

Arose from souls that bled; 

And when I woke in longing sympathy, 

Goddess and nymphs had Hed. 

But thro' that lonely forest land 

The night wind sighed on every hand : 

He's dead. Great Pan is dead. 



29 



IDEAL I 

Ah lovely wife — and true as fair; 
Dear angel, glad mid earthly care: 
Just as our common hope and joy, 
Our pledge of love, our dark-eyed boy — 
Who oft comes weeping to thy side 
The pain of bruises to confide, 
And there, thro' kisses numberless. 
By faith sublime reaps full redress, — 
I, too, have faith that, come what may, 
Thou canst kiss darkness into day. 
We twain, thy darling child and I, 
All rapt in sacred ecstacy. 
Behold with favored mortal eyes 
The loveliness of paradise: 
Thy bosom, pure as unblown snows, 
Is our warm refuge of repose. 



30 



II 



There is a maiden of my dreams — 

they are dreams of bliss; 
She's luring as a siren song, 
Fond as an angel's kiss! 

Her smile bespells me while I sleep, 
Even as thrilling Morn 
With her own heav'nly splendour doth 
All darkling Earth adorn. 

An exile from the land I love, 

A land unguessed by care — 

Torn from my sweet dream maiden's arms, 

1 wake in dumb despair. 

But soon amid my toil I raise 
My lay of conquering faith, 
Right sure she will one day to me 
Come, as in dreams she saith. 

O when the glory of her smile 
Upon me wakeful streams, 
Fairer this dreary world will be 
Than ever land of dreams! 



31 



EUPHROSYNE 



We chide not, bright Euphrosyne, 
Chide? — no, nor do we grieve to see. 

As, laughing thro' the world they go. 
Thine eyes undimmed by the world's woe. 

Nay, sweet joy thrills our hearts to find 
One breathes to whom the world is kind : — 

And, O, a mirth like thine have we 
When fools prate of thy cruelty! 



32 



II 



Yes, although their lot's perdition — 
Fools who wait thy heart's contrition- 
Still, methinks, thou hast a mission 
Which is one of beauty. 
Who demands of every flow'r 
Dreaded leech's healing pow'r: 
Shall not one delight the hour 
When folk prate not of duty? 

I fear not that winsome guile, 
It hath lulled my woes awhile; 
At thy heartlessness I smile. 
Child of lovely leisure. 
Ought I chide that morning mirth ?- 
Ne'er will I increase the dearth 
Of the merriment of Earth: 
Play on, thou May-day treasure. 



3!3 



EUPHROSYNE AND DOLOROSA 

Dearly I love two beautiful girls: 
One the own daughter of Mirth; 
The other a dark-eyed sorrowful maid, 
Child of the Second Birth. 

I love this beautiful pair as I love 
My body and my soul: 
Would that my luck had found them one 
'Neath one sweet will's control. 

First I offered my mirth to the sorrowful one; 
She raised a warning hand: 
Then I told my grief to the maid of mirth; 
She could not understand. 

Since I of both sorrow and mirth am made; 
Though strange, true must it be 
That neither one of these beautiful girls 
Could happily dwell with me. 

So I drink to more fortunate mating for each; 
And go my way alone 

With a prayer I may live as true to them both 
As they were both my own. 

Yes, I must be true to this beautiful pair; 
True to the maid of mirth, 
True to the dark-eyed sorrowful one, 
Child of the Second Birth. 



34 



IGNOTA 

Ah radiant stranger, happy he 

Who shall have life recourse 

To that unfaltering breast! 

Even in this glance my heart throbs with new zest 

For life, and swells as with high glee 

Of fathomless resource. 

Strangers, alas, we go our ways: 

O that man's yearning heart 

Should build itself a wall 

Of desolate silence to stifle its love-call, 

When it perchance doth gaze 

On its dear counterpart! 



35 



CHARLOTTE 

Alas, alas, that heav'n sent me 

To earth some ten years after thee. 

In twenty lives where should I find 
Such charm of motion, speech and mind? 

Thro' the dead years, my brain a-whirl, 
I gaze and see a dazzling girl! 

So wondrous lovely and so lone! — 
Were men once blind or made of stone; 

Or must I think God made all men 
Ignoble and unworthy then? 

— ^Alas, alas, that heav'n sent me 
To Earth some ten years after thee! 



36 



RUTH 

Nay, though the fiery hopes of youth 
Too soon cease to be mine; 
Call not too wise the tired eyes 
Which gaze, dear heart, in thine. 

For mayhap the spent wanderer 
When he at last comes home. 
Will know to cherish well as one 
Who was not born to roam. 



37 



PERGOLESE 

A Prelude 

Hark how the gloam-wrapt Organ's voice 
With old-world passion throbs — 
"Have pity, Oh, have pity, Master!" 
Pergolese sobs. 

Lo, as by fairy lamps I see, 
Mid night of finished years. 
Deep-sunken, burning eyes that swim 
With penitential tears! 

Strange heart of man! When Earth was still 

A Father's school for thee, 

How hateful then the hollow vaunt 

Of human vanity! 

But now a homeless wanderer 
On a bleak stranger shore. 
Thou darest drown thy sorrow-song 
With fiercely proud uproar. 



38 



STRADELLA 



STRADELLA 



Bleak wintry dusk and candle-light, 
Red embers on an old hearth-stone, 
A rapt violinist mid the deepening shadows 
Of the next room, alone. 

Without, the sullied trampled snow, 
And strident twentieth-century din; 
High-fervent song of the lost Age of Faith 
Low-preluding within. 

"Have pity. Lord!" * * * At length recedes 
This loud new world of outward care — 
Lo, up the twilight ghostly arches soar 
From knee-worn pavement bare! 

Dark the unheeded hearth and cold — 
Where late the comfortable flame, 
Naught but stark stone and penitential gloom 
Re-echoing suppliant shame. 

Round us Stradella's travail wraps 

His world-defying spirit-fires: 

Now falleth from our souls the loathly dross 

Of base world-born desires. 

Swiftly still backward borne, we hail, 

On that far-thrilling music's flow, 

Heart of the climbing gorgeous Middle Age — 

One world-wide inward glow! 



40 



Once more the Lamb's Young Bride upturns 
Her streaming eyes so sweetly wild — 
See, though her virgin bosom fiercely heaves, 
Just now, methought, she smiled! 

Triumphant Bride ! We will not think 
She quenched the mad Pompeiian mirth; 
Only, with passionate harp, to pour mad grief 
On cloyed and stifling Earth. 

Almost we wish this were no spell, 
And that heart-sob might never cease: 
In anguish, yea, if need be, let us crave 
The inward boon of peace. 

II 

— The old-world song is hushed and dead; 
And dies in me that old-world thrill: 
Priests of the proud new world, resume your sway; 
Work your unripened will. 

Say on: "An unsubstantial world. 
Grotesque vague vision-realms within, 
Ev'n to this hour still from 'the masses' veil 
The fair real world to win. 

But dazzling Truth rives now the last 
Tyrannic, ashen gloam: too long 
Oblivion waits a dream-enthralled Past 
O'erwrought with sorrow-song." 

Say on : "Man's brutish primal birth 
Mocks the far-gazing toiler's moan: — 
Poor witless crowd, arise; at last we deign 
To help you seize your own!" 



41 



Yes, tell the scorned populace 
The lore that makes you wholly wise ; 
And say, too, that ye left them succorless 
With your half-opened eyes; 

That when ye cried : " 'Each for himself, 
France broke, for this, the despot's might". 
Ye had, this chaos of cross-purpose tells. 
Not fully seen the light; 

That when harsh Nature's chosen iew 
Became Earth's new nobility, 
Man's nascent freedom sank beneath the wheel 
Of deadlier tyranny." 

Ill 

Ah yes, by you our Second Hope 
Was quenched in a vast sordid rage; 
By you the noble anguish, born of that 
Fierce Wakening, with presage 

Of a true earthly brotherhood. 

Was jeered till, in a ruthless mart, 

The children of the new age learned to scorn 

The hunger of the heart; 

Till ev'n the beauty of the past — 
Still lingering thro' bewildered years — 
Fled a raw world of shallow certainty 
Sans yearning and sans tears. 

Already shorn of right to give 

One meaning to all mortal moil. 

The Lamb's high-sorrowful Bride, a blighted thing, 

Sank in the grime of toil. 



42 



Yes, freedom's bards had just divined 
The bigotry of quivering France, 
A noble sorrow hallowing the fire 
Still regnant in their glance. 

Thro' love for the lost Spell that built 
With stone such lofty ryme of strife 
Despairing, far yet thrilling hope they sang 
Of a glad inward life. 

And now with your last oracle, 

Proud priests, the mob is ripe for spoil ; 

The blighted Bride of Christ waits her last hour 

Amid the grime of toil. 

Yes, now a hideous, loveless world 

Rocks with a grinding, sullen roar; 

And they are dust who dreamed a fairer glory 

Should fold us than of yore. 

Rose their great paeans but to give 

A soulless Reason iron sway? — 

Alas, no puissant lyre of heaven's bright gold 

Heads the world-march to-day. 

O Shelly, Byron, Heine! Would 

Such lyric heralds of the light 

Might shame this power of gold, this slavish hate- 

This grim mechanic fight! 

Though yesterday beyond this rout 
We saw the happy, shining goal 
While Arnold sang, far now as ever seem 
Glory of mind and soul. 



43 



IV 



Unchastened by her proud contempt, 
Now Science boasts deep change of heart, 
Rushing at the eleventh hour to take 
The Sovereign Rabble's part. 

No palmer, militant she comes 

To strip the victors in a strife 

She said must rage, and Ate turns to lock 

The death-bound door to Life. 

Shall human misery end when ends 
The draggled mart's ignoble war? 
What oi that deeplier-dreaded spirit- thrall, 
The Jacobinism of law! 

Then will ye to the end, because 
'Twere vain for a dead faith to grieve, 
With pride of work-day knowledge over-prized 
Your 'buried souls* deceive? 

When from his promised victories 

He comes unsatisfied and wan, 

How will ye minister, most haughty priests, 

To reawakening man? 

* * * 



Oblivion holds Stradella's harp 

And the lost Dream of Dreams for aye; 

To huddled lowering crowds their high priests cry 

On a drear, hopeless day: — 



44 



"Man is but son of man; beware 
To know the gaunt, self-tortured Past: 
The law of life is pleasure; pain is death; 
Be gay, be sane at last!" 

Proudly ye murmur 'mongst yourselves: 
"Now hath ecstatic Pan new birth!" 
Yea, wild the roar of laughter doth arise- 
The bitterest heard on Earth! 

Heathen without the heathen's charm, 
O Sophists of the Sophists ye, 
To dream a naked logic could awake 
Earth's morning minstrelsy! 



VI 

Ah yes, while still ye syllogize, 
This heedless world shall writhe again; 
Nor taste the heathen's mirth before she reaps 
A heathen doom of pain. 

By naught shall that fierce grief and shame 

Be changed to Earth's first gladness wild ; 

God grant they may, thro' beauty, love and truth, 

With life be reconciled! 

Alas that now while lingers still 

The agony of unbelief 

Ye face the faltering ranks with sapient scorn, 

Not with a poet's grief ! 

Well said, most learned priests and proud; 
The Future doth to Truth belong; 
But when, pray, did the dazzling Goddess doff 
Her rapturous robes of song? 



45 



Never, not She, pure voice of God; 

'Tfs plain ye have not wholly heard: 

The children of her choice have ever breathed 

Music in every word. 

What but the loveliness of Truth 

Can make a darkling world rejoice; 

What but the deep, sweet spiritual ravishment 

Of that empyreal voice? 

Then Courage! From myriad hearts shall roll 

O'er life's inhospitable shore 

A mighty sursum corda, when it bears 

A songless age no more. 

VI 

— ^Well, ye have shattered one false hope; 
And may we nevermore make moan, 
Like dreaming children on the midnight waked 
In darkness and alone. 

Yes, ye have broke Stradella's harp. 
The hope that roused it as ye deem — 
O for a world-regenerating song 
Born of no fabulous dream! 



46 



L'ENVOI 

Hard ruthless power of gold, farewell; 
Farewell, deep slavish hate: 
Our futile voice was born too soon; 
Or else, alas, too late. 

Live we the lonely spirit life, 
A warring world abjure; 
Live in the aching hope our grief 
Shall after us endure. 



47 



SPINOZAN ECHOES 



I walked one night a moaning beach, 
Unhopeful of the morrow, 
When tow'rd a lonely inland light 
Sounded a rune of sorrow. 

It was an ancient Celtic wail 
I oft had heard before; 
But now its unresigned pain 
Throbbed at my being's core. 

Stubborn, yet O so sad it was, 
The very soul of grief; 
My eyes ached for the balm of tears, 
But could not win relief. 

Slowly this thought it seemed to breathe; 
"Our buried selves were one. 
But empty words divided us 
Beneath the pleasant sun. 

Yet they who proudly laid us low, — 
O yes, they too, shall fall; 
So they that level them, so on 
Till Fate tires of it all." 

Vanished the light, the music ceased; 
Sadly the moaning sea 
Seemed echoing that vain revolt 
Of human misery. 



50 



Still in an ununited world 
Men's buried selves are one, 
But empty words divide us still 
Beneath the pleasant sun. 

O God, shall ne'er our stubborn will 
Bow to Thee and set free 
Our prisoned souls, athirst for truth, 
In noble harmony? 

Hush, far adown my spirit sighs 
A low, yet puissant psalm — 
Some inlet of the vast expanse 
Of the Spinozan calm. 



5» 



II 

COURAGE 

May my life be a glad serenity 

That still with clear and steady eye doth see 

The deep-encircling gloom of misery. 

Welcome, my soul, the terms of mortal birth, 
Sweet, all-containing, unrelenting Earth. 

Nor quench thy gladness to commiserate 
Untamed souls in burning close of fate: 
Thro' that, God's changeless will is the straight gate. 

Let not Truth's holy joyance, once, my heart, 

In pity or in my own pain depart. 

■ I 

And may'st thou leave a house, kind, fearless, free, 

Blest home of a divine serenity, 

Amid encircling gloom which quelled not thee. 

Joyous he lives, and joyous passes he 
Who sees the world in God's eternity. 



52 



Ill 

AUTUMN 

Now do these rolling northern hills 
Like an enchanted land appear: 
What tropic child would guess he saw 
The passing of our year? 

Thro' sunny breaks in foliage, 
Sparklings of upland brooks are spied; 
Who cannot see their mossy banks 
With gold and crimson dyed? 

The martial sumac's haughty plumes 
Among low, scattered firs are seen, 
As in melee the doublets red 
Of old with Lincoln green. 

Thro' odorous amber glades there breathe 
Afar vague elfin murmurings: 
Listen, shy Echo whispers of 
The fairies' caroUings. 

'Mid this wide forest revelry 
The frowning prophet pines decry 
The vanity of Autumn's pride 
Whose splendors soon must die. 

Prithee, dark prophets, great and small, 
Wliat have your gloomy warnings won, 
Forever dinning in our ears 
What surely shall be done? 

O Life's a puissant, wa5rward child, 
A darling she, both sad and gay: 
Curb that immortal liberty, 
Her beauty will away! 

53 



LINES 

The rapturous pagan long ago 

Thus hailed the twilight west: 

"See, for Earth's noblest children glows 

Elysium of the blest." 

A thousand years. Then fervently 

Men sang: "Behind the blue 

Calm sky, a golden city of bliss 

Waits all souls good and true." 

No more in yon aerial vault 

Or in the storied west, 

Though great and good, shall toil-worn hearts 

Put faintest hope of rest. 

Rest, Rest! Ah who's the prophet now 

That strongly trusts ev'n death 

To ease his aching soul from more 

Than gasped mortal breath? 

The prescient bard saith bravely: "How 

Shall naked spirit find repose 

Within a travailing universe?" 

'Tis certain no one knows. 

If, then, man still shun his own soul, 

Where shall his refuge be? — 

Our feverish will must bend at last 

To labor tranquilly. 

To him that from false wajrward hope 

Doth vn-est his soul's release. 

His mite of even this world's work 

Will bring a saving peace. 



54 



ST. PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL 

Lest the old faith be all out-worn 
Ere from the old the new be born, 

Long may this soaring shrine receive 
These last who in their hearts believe. 

In hallow'd gloom here let them kneel, 
Hid from the glittering rout and reel 

Of godless mirth and pride and trade 
That round without swirls unafraid ; 

Here 'mid our modern fierce unrest 
Still by the ancient Hope be blest. 

While thro' the bleeding window streams 
The splendor of the Dream of Dreams, 

And choir and organ glorify 
The Lamb's miraculous agony. 

Yes, well may these dim aisles receive 
The last who in their hearts believe; 

Who 'mid the endless sects have stood 
Earth's one firm beauteous brotherhood, 

Because their bond is hope, not grim 
Estranging theologic whim. 



55 



For here, too, wearier pilgrimage 
The spent sons of this outward age 

Shall make to breathe, amid these last 
Sweet twilight glamors of the past, 

A deeper grief and inward care 
Than ever these wan faithful bear. 

That passing Faith grave Truth may bless 
With her most holy loveliness. 

Let oft enwrap them unaware 
This beatific hush of pray'r. 

Long may these guardian spires maintain 
Calm refuge for the soul in pain, 

An oasis of spirit fresh 

Mid this day's desert of the flesh. 

Till man at last sees he must tread 

The path of Christ, though Christ be dead. 



56 



LINES 

Written after reading Benjamin Kidd's "Social Ev- 
olution" 

A modern seer with new-found light 

Doth past and present scan, 

And cries: "there's naught but groundless Faith 

Can lift the soul of man. 

No, truth shall never greet the hope 
That points our upward way; 
Yet woe to man the hour he says 
Blind faith has had its day. 

If ye doubt selfishness and vice 
Must follow thought's release 
From faith, ye need but scan the fall 
Of heathen Rome and Greece. 

Think not that righteousness e'er was 
Or can be, reason's child; 
Nay, reason only lets her live 
Because by faith beguiled. 

Idly the wise cry: 'wickedness 
Will sweep the race away'; 
Ev'n so, what do the wicked care 
So they but have their day? 

And in their self-indulgence deep, 
From warning faith unwed. 
They will not care — they will not know 
That their own souls are dead. 



57 



II 



"Yes, faith alone, not wisdom, spins 
This dream of right and wrong — 
Why? Simply lest the crowd pull down 
Nature's loved few, the strong. 

For would ye know the central power 
Blind faith has on our life? 
Learn, then, that human progress rests 
On endless human strife. 

'Tis strife that raised man from the brute, 
This sordid strife for bread; 
The race will rot that day of sloth 
When all are bravely fed. 

The children of the lion's share 
Shall breed the perfect man; 
And, lest they soften, they must seize 
All this world's goods they can. 

Dreamers are they who will have peace 
On Earth religion's goal ; 
(Though true we stand no longer sword 
To sword, but soul to soul.) 

Faith lives but to increase the strife: 
She tells, with sleepless care, 
The rich of privilege put by, 
The mob of bliss elsewhere." 



58 



Ill 

For all that Reason e'er shall tell, 
Death is the end of all 
The multitudes that love and toil 
On this slow-dying ball. 

Yet, wonder of all wonders, see. 
The dauntless human race, 
A quiet joy in her tired eyes, 
Looks calmly in Death's face! 

Doth naught save hope, instinctive, blind. 
Of death-bought Paradise, 
Lend meaning, life, to righteousness 
Toil and self-sacrifice? 

Then screen us, magic Faith, from what 
'Twere worse than death to see — 
The bleak, the freezing truth in all 
Its stark reality; 

Screen us, lest thy benighted hosts 
Who toil, hope, multiply. 
Staggering in their vast weariness. 
Pause once and wonder why! 



59 



IV 

Must we, at last, call peace and truth 
Distempers of the brain; 
Must human life forever more 
In gloom and strife remain? 

The hour man really knows himself, 
Is he then too astute, 
Must he then from himself depart 
Or sink once more, a brute? 

O peace, O truth, why have ye come 
So honied in our breath; 
Why have ye such a silver sound, 
If ye be words of death ? 



Glad voice of Greece, thou didst unveil 
The brighter eye within; 
And when the Christ came, never once 
Called He self-knowledge sin. 

Unheeded be the hateful cry: 

"O wax not too astute; 

The hour clear reason probes the soul 

Man sinks once more a brute!" 

Be resolute, O Inward Eye, 
This pain shall soon be mirth — 
Still, still the world doth agonize 
With new and glorious birth! 



60 



A HYMN— ST. JAMES 

Eternal, while I see so clear, 

For larger grace I pray: 

Forsake me not, if, pray'rless, from the Truth 

I fall once more away. 

Forsake not. Lord, thy suffering child. 

Lost in the world's wild night ; — 

Ev'n though my woes from hard self-will arise, 

For me let there be light. 

Let there be light: in my dark soul. 

Stubborn and passion-fraught, 

Wake sudden memories bright — let not this hour 

Come utterly to naught. 

For that the surging flesh may sweep 
Me from the light divine. 
Father, receive this fond, this fearful prayer; 
Forget not I am thine. 

For strayed ones, unvisited 

By Thee, shall hold afar, 

Almighty God, from the steep heavenly ways 

Where peace and duty are. 



6i 



A SONG 

Out of a lonely chamber 

Into the lonelier night 

Thro' wind and rain and fearsome gloom 

Tow'rd a distant welcoming light. 

After the drear, cold darkness, 
After the wind and rain. 
Sweeter the warmth of a woman's smile 
Than balm that lulleth pain. 



62 



PARTING 

Yon lamp that rides in gusty gloom 
Beyond the roaring foam, 
Must gleam on distant hostile shores 
Ere anchor drop at home. 

Darling, I guess sweethearts too long 
May draw untroubled breath: 
Mighty's the life-flood that rolls o'er 
True love at odds with death. 

Dearer these wild, salt kisses are 
Than all the rest together: 
One life of love's already ours 
In spite of war and weather! 



63 



ADIEU 

If silent ditties of the heart 

Be of true poesy a part, 

Thou shalt not, radiant girl, go hence unsung. 

With stilly dulcet carolling, 

An harp not made by hands shall ring 

Within my breast, that ne'er shall be unstrung, 

Nor high uphung. 

Fleet-winged with thy gladdening smile, 
My soul hath soared with thine awhile 
Where I had fain been captive ransomless. 
For soother was I succored then, 
Than ever parched Bedouin, 
Lulling, in dewy, starlit oasis. 
His weariness. 



64 



SONG 

Oh the moonbeams play with silver spray 

As the billows break in foam, 

And a strong warm breeze from the southern seas 

Is wafting us merrily home. 

Chorus : — 

A night like this 

Breathes naught but bliss 

For loving souls on sea and land; 

Dost feel the pressure of my hand? 

Oh answer with a kiss! 

Through the limpid whey of the milky-way 
Do I see the star of love: 
Oh she reigns to-night with a wondrous might 
Though gentle she seems as a dove ! 



65 



TRANSLATIONS 



I 

FROM THE FRENCH OF VERLAINE 

Over the roof, heaven smiles 
So blue, so calm. 
O'er the high grating waves 
A lonely palm. 

I see, just o'er the sill, 
Yon sweet bell sway. 
A bird up in the tree 
Chirps his glad lay. 

Dear God in heaven, out there 
All's tranquil, free. 
The village murmurs, ah, 
So peacefully! 

What hast thou, sobbing wretch, 
Come, speak the truth; 
What hast thou, broken heart, 
Done with thy youth? 



68 



II 

FROM THE GERMAN OF HEINE 

Thou lovely fisher maiden, 
Put back thy skiff to land. 
Come hither and sit beside me; 
We'll chat here hand in hand. 

Yes, close to my heart come nestle; 
Why shouldst thou feel afraid? 
Thou trustest thyself to wild ocean 
Daily, blithe fisher maid. 

My heart's just like the ocean. 
Hath storm and ebb and flow; 
And pearls of wondrous beauty 
Its silent deeps bestrew. 



69 



SONNETS 



IK MARVEL'S HILL 

The toiling city's din lost on the wind, 

Its spires and smoking chimnies still in view, 

An hour on this fair hill-top shall renew 

That healing calm which steals into the mind 

When all the senses to the soul are kind; 

And, gazing in the vast aerial blue. 

One feels the joy of living thrill him through, 

And his true, buried self again doth find. 

The mighty oaks above me, the soft breeze 
That dallies with the daisies on the slope, 
The distant drowsy low of kine content, 
The brisk near hum of bees, the honied scent 
Of June, the robin's song of rapturous hope — 
All tell of labor loved or puissant ease. 



72 



ENDYMION 

High-hid in lofty, Latmian wilderness, 
Embalmed with slumber by thy love divine, 
Soft-couched youth so fair, thou dost recline 
On downy moss in stilly, dim recess; 
Dream-leased from deepest sleep, while she doth 

press, 
All timorously, ambrosial lips to thine. 
Strew forest flow'rs o'er thy loved form supine. 
And languish with her mild-eyed tenderness. 

Ah, would were I, like thee, for aye at rest, 
Freed from despair, deaf to ambition's scorn ; 
And dreaming naught but dreams of purest bliss 
Wherein would my soul's eye be beauty-blest 
By visions of my white-armed love forlorn. 
And I have no sensation save her kiss. 



73 



NIGHT 

Thy child yearns for thy coming, gracious Night, 
As parching blossoms crave the gentle rain: 
On this hot brow press kisses cool and light; 
Receive and shrive my spirit once again. 
Thou knowest well that in this weary heart, 
Each restive plaint is none the less a psalm — 

softly let thy grateful raiment part 
To fold me to thy bosom's blessed calm! 
Full many folk thy darkling stillness fear, 
As little children dread the fabled gnome: 

1 call thy boons prophetic, mother dear; 

And they at last shall know that thou art home. 

From thee I came; to thee I shall return. 
Thy wondrous secrets once again to learn. 



74 



AVE MARIA 

Westward, lo, the eye of Day 
Beckons his realm of care; 
Vesper the lamp of peace relumes; 
It is the hour of pray'r. 

We praise thee, Mary, queen of Heaven, 
Radiant mother of our Rest; 
The faithful, now, on land and sea 
Kneel to thine image blest. 



75 



AVE MARIA 

Hail, thrice blessed queen of Heaven, 
Star of sorrow's troubled sea; 
From the chill and angry surges 
Rise our aching hearts to thee. 

Pray, O pray, sweet virgin Mother, 
For Earth's mothers who make moan: 
Deep maternal Earth-born sorrow 
Thou hast suffered of thine own. 



76 



SHADOWS 



ABERGLAUBE 

Long since a wave world-wide, 

Time's mightiest spirit-flood, washed all the land: 

Look now, its shrunken tide 

Hath left but scattered pools along the strand. 

"Here, here", the preacher cries, 

"Are gracious drops, O world with doubt accurst!" 

Laughter and mingled sighs; 

Stagnant the pools, the world moves on athirst. 



78 



LINES 

Yonder the jaded city flaunts 
On high its lurid glare: 
Here only the mild stars illume 
The hushed, sweet country air. 

One only city sound I hear — 
The far-off church-bells ringing: 
Here no unworthy moil, yet here 
No white-robed Sabbath-singing. 



79 



WOODMONT REVISITED 



Sadly my tired eyes seaward roam 
From this lone cottage door; 
For me no lusty welcome now 
In yonder breakers' roar. 

Into the mist the wide, white beach 
Fades, where we sang together 
In years when salt, grey days like this 
Were j oiliest sailor weather. 

Farewell, once mirth-encircled hearth, 
And once enchanted shore; 
So desolate now, — and yet so fair 
In dreams, forevermore. 



80 



II 

Drift-wood glow, 
Salt winds blow, 
Waves on the dim sands 
Murmur low. 

Stars on high 

Smile as I sigh. 

Lonely for nights like this 

Long gone by. 

Calm stars, 'tis told 
On griefs long cold. 
Just as on mine ye smile, 
Smiled ye of old. 

Yes, trivial, vain, 
Shall be my pain 
Under the smile of thy 
Silent disdain. 

Right or wrong. 
To death belong 
All sorrows but those 
Living in song. 



8i 



LINES 

Of Eve's fairer daughters surely 
Loveliest far woo I, 
Yet my heart is ill at ease. Dost 
Wonder why? 

In the ever-changing magic 

Of her dancing eye 

Gaze I ; on her lips' blithe witchery 

Gaze and sigh. 

Yes, her eyes have lured me till these 
Lips her lips have prest; 
Yet thro' all my joy there lurketh 
Strange unrest. 

Is it that those eyes were never 
Wet with tears of care; 
Is it that those lips have never 
Breathed a prayer? 

Must one pray to truly love as 
They must love who pray? — 
O, if so, how brief, alas, how 
Brief my day! 



82 



CHRIST'S LOVE 

O Love! — I shut mine eyes and see 
A lost, sweet, homeless child 
In desolate wastes of wrath and greed 
Most shamelessly beguiled. 

Say, did that mystic Lamb come forth 
From this world's brutish womb? — - 
One faint chance flash of purest light 
Amid eternal gloom? 

O Love! — I shut mine eyes and see 
A lost, bewildered child 
That cannot tell me from what home, 
Nor how, it was beguiled. 



83 



DESPONDENCY 

I feel my heart is bleeding 
To death here in my breast: 
Spent with the war of dream and fact 
It cries in vain for rest. 

Though love and truth and beauty 
Have each had me in thrall, 
Now, mid the bickering, aimless throng, 
On each in vain I call. 

I am weary, weary; 
So languid is my breath, 

1 have no manly hold on life, 
No confidence in death. 



84 



THE HAPPY DEAD 

Ah happy, happy dead 
In dreamless sleep, 
Who never, nevermore 
Shall wake to weep, — 

Rest, rest, ye loved of 
The sun and rain: 
Not even in our memory 
Lives your pain. 



85 



WATCHMAN, WHAT OF THE NIGHT? 

In Memoriam 

Thou calm of brow, alone on the prow, 
Deep slumber hath dimmed my sight; 
From a dream of fear I awaken now — 

watchman, what of the night? 

Toward the open we ride on an ebbing tide; 
Think not we are a-drift; 
Look up; in cloudland's lowering pride 
Our star hath found a rift. 

And tell me now, dear heart on the prow, 
From what haven we set sail; 
A waste of waters is all I know; 
O'er memory sleep draweth a veil. 

O ! true I say from not far away 
Dear heart have we twain come hence: 
Where yester-dawn opened the portals of day. 
Soul of my soul, O thence! 

And whither now, dear heart on the prow. 
Sail we o'er the waters wide? 
In mysterious gloom thou art lonely, I trow. 
Shall I come and dream by thy side? 

Still as deepest cave old ocean doth lave, 
Rest there while I tell thee whither; 
Where heaven kisses the western wave. 
Soul of my soul, O thither! 

— ^Wide heaven wept o'er his grave while I slept; 

1 avroke in the storm with fright; 
And when to the tossing prow I crept, 
I was alone with the night. 

86 



LINES 

I 

One boon, they say this Christmas night 
Hath promised thee and me, 
Poor innocent, — the bitter end 
Of thy deep misery. 

Thy father's better soul, sweet child, — 
Into black night, my own. 
This freezing night, for all my prayers, 
Thou must go hence — alone. 

II 

Bleak Dawn came just as I arose 
Beside that bed — alone; 
O grim, inscrutable her smile 
At my heart-withering moan! 

The deathless gods have bound my heart 
With strings to sound ray woe; 
But never words of hope or dread 
From their calm lips shall flow. 



87 



OXFORD 

In this New World, fair Oxford, 
A gentle few there be, 
Lovers of beauty and the truth, 
Whose hearts go out to thee. 

Sweet balm hast thou, dear Oxford, 
For their deep doubts and fears. 
While this exultant New World roars 
Round their ill-fated ears. 

We love thee, dear, dear Oxford; 
Our mother, too, thou art. 
Yea, of all English-speaking youth, 
Thoughtful and pure in heart. 

In this New World, fair Oxford, 
A gentle few there be, 
Lovers of beauty and the truth, 
Whose hearts go out to thee. 



LINES 

How shall I quench within my breast 
This soul-consuming fire? 
Still, still I see those beckoning eyes; 
Feel their enchantment dire. 

I see them in the darkest night 
More clearly than by day; 
And, woe is me, I've lost the pow'r 
To turn my glance away. 

I have a fiend within my breast; 
My eyes are hot and dry — 
O for a flood of blinding tears, 
And long-hushed lullaby! 



89 



LINES 

There was a brown-eyed little boy, — 
Quenched now his honied breath; 
No more he plays by day, no more 
At eve his prayer he saith. 

The day he passed he woke and said 
He'd dreamt we sat again 
To watch the red sun hide behind 
The blue hills past the plain. 

His play, his prayer, his dreams are done ; 
And never more shall he. 
These lorn arms close around him, watch 
The sun go down, with me. 

Still, O dream-angels, on my face 
Oft lies his little hand — 
Keep, keep the bridge whereon we meet 
'Twixt Earth and spirit-land! 

For now my only day is night. 
When in my dreams again 
We watch the red sun hide behind 
The blue hills past the plain. 



90 



MISCELLANEOUS 



DREAMLAND 

Hail, hushed fairy-land, 

The pure heart's peaceful haven; 

O grateful realm, O bright oasis golden! 

There gracious Respite rules with magic wand. 

Around her throne a smiling band. 

With arms outholden, 

Greeting worn pilgrims stand. 

Often in this sweet land, 

The faithful, the broken-hearted. 

Live blissful years among the loved departed, 

Protected by an angel's flaming brand. 

Ere smiling Morn, with gentle hand. 

Leads them, hope-freighted. 

Back to Earth's rocking strand. 



92 



TO DOCTOR G. WITH SOME CIGARS AT 
CHRISTMAS 

My prince of doctors, on this tide 

Of love's high plenitude, 

From one who's known thy balm, receive 

Embalmed gratitude. 

If my heart's blood could serve thy weal, 
A royal-red libation 
Thou'dst have ; yet here's my very soul 
In transubstantiation. 

Yes, still my heart's of just such stuff 
For all my long privation: 
I couldn't suffer worse in love 
From horrid palpitation. 

Heaven let thee puff in wicked peace; 

And ne'er exact a price 

In anchoritish days, like mine, 

Of prayer for future vice. 



93 



THE BIRD WITH BROKEN WING 

Poor mangled prince of minstrelsy, 
Alas, what skill may succour thee 
Of condolence or surgery, 
All tameless as thou art? 

Thy frenzied flutterings of alarm 
Are working thee most deadly harm. 
And none may teach thee patient calm; 
Thine own worst foe thou art. 

High-soaring with fleet wing and strong 
A blithesome lay thou didst prolong; 
But now thou hast no sorrow-song. 
All tameless as thou art. 



94 



THE FLOWER 

And must thou, too, loved balmy flow'r, 
Poor weakling of a little hour, 

Must thou, too, struggle to 'get on', 
And by sharp greed be set upon? — 

This day I read ev'n flowers must fight 
To win a few stray beams of light. 

It seems thy life's one strenuous race 
To hold this tiny breathing space. 

Now I had thought beneath these trees 
The live-long day thou took'st thine ease ; 

And here, alas, I wake to find 
The world is ev'n to flowers unkind. 



95 



TO W. 

Once my bewildered heart was filled 
With bitterness and hate; 
I said: "behold man's self-respect, 
The master jest of fate. 

Poor insect on a riddle world, 
Man yet presumes to pray; 
His petty soul might move me, should 
It pray to pass away." 

— Now in the Second Birth I share: 
Since I beheld that face 
This "unintelligible world" 
Doth seem another place. 

Ah me, those wise, sad, sinless eyes. 
And O, that gentle hand! — 
My heart fills with a childlike love 
I not yet understand. 

Is it that Christ I mocked as dead. 
My hero, dwells in thee? 
I feel that I am face to face 
With immortality. 

No more I loathe my fellow men, 
No^ more myself despise; 
For I have seen God's kingdom in 
Two wondrous human eyes. 



96 



LOVELY WOMEN 

Lovely women do I see 

As on my darkling pilgrimage I go; 

Fairies all they seem to me 

Within a wood whose bounds I may not know ; 

Spirits of good or evil coming, going, 

As I pass on nor whence nor whither knowing. 

Comes anon a sorceress, 

Bright in her lustrous eyes a wild desire; 

Neath the spell of her caress 

My blood full swiftly turns to living fire. 

And as with fear I haste my weary feet, 

She proffers lotus calling me to eat. 

Erewhile, in a sunny glade. 

Came I upon a gentle shepherdess. 

"Happy, happy sheep," I said, 

"Who know thy blue-eyed maiden tenderness!" 

— "Oh ! rest here with my lambs thou weary worn ; 

A safe path will I show the morrow morn." 



97 



LINES 

'Tis oft the happy poet's whim 
To sing the praise of death: 
So sang poor Keats, I mind me, once, 
With his youth's balmiest breath. 

But when that singer came to die, 
How loath, alas, was he 
To leave his comer in the sun 
And his rich minstrelsy. 

Nay, tell me what unfrenzied will, 
Though lost its forward power; 
What baffled brain, what broken heart, 
Hungers for that dim hour; 

When, near the shores of mystery. 

His tattered canvass furled, 

Man sighs : "farewell, Life's surge, farwell, 

O sweet unhappy world !" 



98 



LINES 

Wakened at earliest dawn 

By the shrill, fitful bugle of the wind; 

Lying in my warm bed, 

I listened awhile with lax, unruffled mind. 

Slowly my roving eyes 

Found my east window — lo, the morning star ! 

Instant in the chill room 

I stood with flooding thoughts that called afar. 



99 



FEB 19 1912 



I 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 
FEB 20 19t2 



■nH'£^i!^SX O"" CONGRESS 

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018 603 327 9 









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-111. 




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